Thursday, February 10, 2005

***If Patience is a virtue, I'd strangle it***

I'm not a patient person. I was jittery, anxious-prone, and spastic long before I discovered caffeine. And events for the past few weeks have not made it any easier:

Contractor has returned my phone calls over the past two days. Aargh!

Bank didn't return my phone call same day. Aargh!

My spouse is on-call for an evening. Aargh!

Why haven't I lost another pound in a week. Aargh!

My novel's still work instead of writing itself. Aargh!

I want a new car now. And will all the features of a top-of-the line luxury car but at econocar prices. Why doesn't the industry build such a thing. Aargh!

Have I finally succumbed to "Internet speed"? That is, expecting the real-world around me to respond the same way I send out (and receive) e-mails or webpages download on a DSL line? Right now I want to lash out, smacking down those obstacles holding me back like the necessity of a good night's rest, reigning in debt, "maturity", and other roadblocks.

Patience is so over-rated. I'm so glad I'm regressing back to that hormone-hell that was my teenage years. There I feel so...alive: unsure, ego-centric, selfish, "why can't the world understand me?" Now I understand why so many folks my age (and older) look back at their teenage years with such longing. One didn't have to (more specifically, didn't listen or especially care) concern themselves about such irritants such as lovers, children, family, or even friends. What do they know about my needs? Selfish bastards. Always wanting a piece of me: my time, my money, my attention to their whining, pathetic lives.